Come Fly With Me

I'm sure by now even the most remote corners of the world has heard about the Flight 1549 plane crash into the Hudson river. New York sure doesn't have much luck in the "planes not crashing in their general vicinity", do they? I'd take it as a sign that the end is nigh and that someone, somewhere, was trying to tell me something. Maybe not jebus, maybe it's aliens, we don't know. Repent, earthlings of New Amsterdam, repent and you shall not be smited! And while the experience may have been terrifying and I'm glad that no one was killed and the pilot is a super genius and I'm Ok, You're Ok and Kumbaya my lord and all that touchy-feely warm feelings crap, I can turn this tragedy in a much more cynical direction. Shocking, yes it is.

You just know that at some point in the not too distant future, some butthead is going to insist on launching a dramatic investigation and try to sue the airline for a bajillion bucks for their "emotional trama". And you just know some assmonkey will get a book deal out of it, about their harrowing tale of terror in the unfriendly skies. And, if we're really lucky, you just know some numbnuts will eventually turn the story into a Lifetime Movie Event tearjerker, with Luke Perry playing the hunky-but-capable pilot, with some retarded title like "Not Without My Floatation Device: Coffee, Tea Or Lifeboat?"

Furthermore, let me just state that the cause of the crash was birds flying into the engines. Freaking BIRDS. I always knew a flock of seagulls could not be trusted and would be the end of us.



What kind of Flintstone-sized birds could take down a jet?! Did the plane get caught in some kind of time-space continuum screwup and end up flying over prehistoric New York? It's just like in the 1961 Twilight Zone episode! (You probably don't care to know it's titled The Odyssey of Flight 33. I'm a self-professed Twilight Zone nerd. Shut up. Don't judge me.)